


Stay a Stranger

by glorious_spoon



Series: Hurt/Comfort Bingo 2018 [5]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Broken Bones, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Rescue, Torture, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 21:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16457333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: Daniel’s people were closing in on the warehouse across town. All they needed to do was stall until then. If they played their cards right, Jack might even manage to keep his cover intact.A mission goes wrong, and Peggy and Jack have to keep their cover. It isn't pleasant for either of them.





	Stay a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> For a tumblr prompt by laylainalaska. Also fills the 'forced to hurt someone' square on my H/C bingo card.

The corridor seemed to tilt beneath her as the men dragged her along on unsteady feet. The lights overhead were flickering, spaced out enough to add disorienting swings of light and darkness, illuminating the grimy floor and sweating concrete walls in nightmarish flashes.

Twenty paces east, through two doors, then thirty paces west. Down a flight of stairs. Her head was spinning, and keeping track took every bit of concentration she could muster, but they were careless enough not to blindfold her, and that was an opportunity not to be wasted.

Down another flight of stairs. The smell of damp was stronger here, cut through with an effluvia of rancid sweat and other, less pleasant bodily fluids. Peggy wrinkled her nose and pressed her lips together as she was jostled again. She refused to lose her lunch all over her shoes in front of these men, for the sake of her dignity if nothing else.

They came upon a battered steel door, barricaded shut. The larger of the two men holding her lifted one meaty hand and pounded on it, then lifted the bar to kick it open without losing his grip on her upper arm.

“Hey, Johnny!” he called, obscenely cheerful. “Got a live one for ya!”

“Bring him in,” said a bored-sounding voice from the other side. “And I hope like hell you dumb mooks actually checked the docks this time, or the boss is gonna be pissed.”

She’d been gambling on it, but it was still all she could do not to sag in relief as they shoved the door the rest of the way open. The room beyond looked as though it might have been an office in another life, but now it was dirty and bare, battered desks shoved haphazardly against in the walls, an ancient telephone mounted by the door, filthy wallpaper peeling beneath it. The whole mess was illuminated by a single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. A sturdy metal chair squatted beneath it, bloody leather straps on the arms and legs testifying mutely to its purpose.

Behind it, leaning over a stack of files at one of the desks with an open bottle of whiskey and a gun near at hand, was Jack.

He looked thinner than he had the last time she’d seen him, his skin drawn sharply across the bone. His blond hair was combed straight back, a style that didn’t suit him in the least, and his cheeks were rough with several days of stubble. He waved at the chair without looking up “Just leave him right over there. And get the hell out, this place stinks enough as it is.”

“Ain’t a ‘him’, boss,” leered the man on her right, one thick paw groping roughly at her chest and hip. Peggy struck out at him with her elbow, but her aim was off, and she barely got a glancing blow in.

“What’s that?” Jack said, and lifted his head.

His expression froze.

“You don’t mind the ladies, do ya, Johnny?” asked the man, an ugly edge in his voice, and shoved her at the chair. Peggy stumbled, barely caught herself, and stared up at Jack, silently willing him to play along.

Daniel’s people were closing in on the warehouse across town. All they needed to do was stall until then. If they played their cards right, Jack might even manage to keep his cover intact.

For an instant— just an instant— he actually looked like he might be sick. Then he shrugged, and that smooth familiar mask slid back over his face. “All the same to me. Boss know she’s down here?”

“On his way down right now. Caught her sneaking around the warehouse, and I guess he wants to hear what she has to say for himself.”

“Come on,” Jack said. He still sounded indifferent, but the skin around his mouth was white, and she was pretty sure that wasn’t just the uncertain light. “This is a waste of time. I’m too busy to deal with some incompetent sneak-thief. Just take her for a ride around town and dump her somewhere.”

“Boss’s orders,” said one of the men, laughing, and yanked one of the leather straps over Peggy’s wrist, fastening it bruisingly tight. She yanked at it slightly, and he slapped her hard across the face. “Hey now. None of that.”

“Hey,” Jack said sharply, as Peggy shook her head. Her ears were ringing. “Knock it off.”

“Didn’t figure you for a soft-touch, Johnny.” He strapped down the other hand. This time she dropped her chin and forced herself not to react. “If it’d suit you better, you can go powder your nose and let the real men handle it.”

Jack snorted. He wasn’t quite facing her, but she could see his eyes flickering over her, a quick, professional assessment. By the way his lips pressed together, he wasn’t liking what he saw. Peggy had taken down three of the guards that caught her coming out of the warehouse, and the rest of them had taken their umbrage out with their fists, as her ribs and various other parts could attest. “Yeah, takes a real man to smack around a dame half his size.”

“Better than a—”

“Aw, now, boys, we’re not fighting, are we?” interrupted a jovial voice as the door swung open again. A pair of shiny black shoes entered her field of vision. She lifted her head slightly, wrinkling her nose at the sudden rank smell of cheap cigars. The man in the doorway was greasily stout, with the thick shoulders and flattened nose of a professional boxer gone slightly to seed. His slicked-back hair gleamed in the grungy yellow light.

Thomas Flannery. The boss of this operation. Even if she hadn’t been looking at his photograph daily for the past three months, she’d know that much by his swagger, by the respectful way the other two men stepped aside to let him in.

“Just a friendly disagreement,” Jack said easily. “Me, I think this is a waste of time. What’s some little gal like this supposed to know?”

“Well,” Flannery said. “That’s what we want to find out, ain’t it?”

Jack started to open his mouth, and the taller man said, nastily, “He don’t have the stones for it. Gone soft, he has.”

Jack shot him a look. “You want to come over here, I’ll show you how soft I am.”

“Boys,” Flannery interrupted pleasantly. “That’s enough. Johnny, you can step outside if you find this all too distasteful. George here doesn’t quite have your flair for it, but I’m sure he can handle her.”

There was a slimy undercurrent to his words that made her shudder, and the ugly way the aforementioned George chuckled didn’t help. Jack stiffened slightly, but the face he turned toward Flannery was calm and smiling. “Not at all. Just making sure we’re all on the same page.”

He glanced down at Peggy again, like he was hoping for a signal, but she shook her head slightly. _Not yet._

Jack closed his eyes briefly, inclined his chin in agreement. Absurdly, Peggy almost felt guilty for putting him in this position, although it was going to be a good deal more painful for her, at least in the short term.

“What do ya say, Johnny?” asked the shorter man, a stocky redhead who’d been silent up until now, hefting a claw hammer from the table. Peggy didn’t allow herself to flinch. “Start with the hammer, eh?”

“Maybe _you_ need a hammer,” Jack said, reaching for her left pinky finger. His thumb rubbed over the knuckle slightly, apologetically, and Peggy breathed in slowly, bracing herself. “Me, I prefer the hands-on approach.”

In a sudden sharp motion, he bent her finger back, snapping the bone. She gritted her teeth and swallowed the most of noise that wanted to come out.

A burst of laughter from Flannery. “Aw, she’s a tough one, look at her. She doesn’t want to talk.”

“They all start out tough.” Jack’s voice seemed to be coming from far away. His fingers were still resting on the back of her wrist, tapping restlessly against her skin.

No. Not restlessly. That was Morse code. Peggy closed her eyes to concentrate.

Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap.

_E - X - I - T - ?_

It was tempting, very tempting, to nod. If she gave the word, she knew Jack wouldn’t hesitate, and it was that, ironically enough, that gave her the strength to shake her head again. He wouldn’t hesitate, but there were three men with guns in the room with them and she was tied to a chair. Daniel’s team was closing in on the hand-off. Their chances were better if she could stick it out just a little longer.

“Whaddya say, honey?” Flannery leaned toward her from Jack’s other side, blowing a puff of smoke in her face. She wrinkled her nose. “We got all night. And Johnny here, well. He’s a creative little bastard.”

Jack made a soft sound that probably sounded, to someone who didn’t know him, like a laugh. “Nah. Just dedicated to the job.”

“Right,” Flannery laughed. “He likes to keep his nose to the grindstone. Or somebody’s nose, anyway. If I was you I’d start talking before he gets started on that pretty face of yours. Because trust me, by the time he’s done, you ain’t gonna be so pretty. Let’s start with an easy one. Who are you working for?”

“I’m a switchboard operator at Pacific Bell.”

“Funny gal.” Flannery jerked his chin at Jack, who reached for her ring finger, his face like a mask. Peggy braced herself, but the sharp pain that reverberated up her arm when he snapped the joint still made her gasp. “Try again.”

Fingers had been a good choice. Non-lethal, not enough to seriously incapacitate her, but still showy. And convincingly painful.

“I do evening tutoring for—” Another snap. Her stomach roiled. Jack was still touching her, his fingers warm on the back of her hand. It was absurdly comforting, but she could also feel a tremor there. Jack wasn’t a hothead, which was a blessing, but she didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep this up before something cracked.

Flannery took a puff of his cigar. “Try. Again.”

Jack’s fingers twitched, just slightly. Peggy opened her mouth, but before she could speak the air was split by the shrilling noise of the telephone. She jerked, winced hard when her injured fingers knocked against the chair.

“Get that,” Flannery snapped.

The redhead grabbed for the receiver, listened for a moment, then held it out. “It’s for you, boss.”

Flannery snatched the receiver out of his hand and pressed it to his ear. “What?” His expression went suddenly thunderous. “ _What?_ When the hell was this? No, never mind— shut it down before the Feds grab the rest of it, I’m on my way.”

“Something wrong?” Peggy asked, as he slammed the receiver back down into the cradle. She couldn’t quite keep the smugness out of her voice.

That had been a miscalculation, perhaps. Flannery crossed the room in two long strides, tangled his fingers in her hair, and yanked her chin up. His face was inches away, all trace of good cheer gone. “Did you have something to do with this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He released her, abruptly. “I don’t have time to deal with you. Johnny, get her talking. If you can’t get something useful out of her by the time I get back—” He backhanded Peggy across the face, almost casually. “I’ll take care of her myself.”

And with that, he stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Peggy flexed her jaw, wincing, and listened as his footsteps echoed away down the hallway. A door swung open, then shut. Then silence. She strained her ears, but could hear nothing but the sound of her own breath, the small shifts of the three men’s clothes and shoes as they moved.

“You waiting for something, Johnny?” asked the redhead after a few minutes. “Boss said get her talking. I don’t mind taking a turn if you’re tired of it.” He laughed. “Might be fun.”

Jack’s head had been tilted like he was listening too, but at that he lifted his head and gave first the redhead, then his companion, a long cool look before crossing back over to Peggy.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning down into her space, looking her square in the eyes for the first time since she’d entered the room. He looked even more haggard close up, and she could smell whiskey on his breath, but his blue eyes were calm and intent. “You ready to be sensible?”

“Yes,” Peggy said slowly. She licked her lips, tasting blood, and smiled up at him. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Thank fucking Christ,” Jack muttered, stepping back. He glanced between the two other men, then scooped up his gun from the table.

The redhead looked up when he racked the slide. “Hey,” he snapped. “Boss said that we—”

Jack turned and shot him in a single smooth motion. He crumpled to the floor with a smoking hole in his forehead and a vaguely surprised expression on his face. A wordless shout as the other man fumbled for his holster, and another gunshot, and he crumpled too.

The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds. Peggy shook her head, her ears ringing, and let out a long breath. “That’s what you call sensible? You realize you’ve just blown your cover sky-high.”

Jack stared at her for a second, then holstered his gun and leaned over the two corpses to take their pistols as well. “Really? That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“You’re not? We still need to get out of here, and arresting Flannery will be that much harder once he realizes you’re the mole.”

“Coulda just shot him too,” Jack said after a moment of astonished silence, crossing over to start undoing the straps around her wrists. “No, that’s really not my most pressing concern right now, Carter. What the hell were you doing out there, anyway?”

Peggy started to flex her aching fingers, then stopped, wincing. “I was sabotaging Mr. Flannery’s latest shipment of chemical weapons. They’re quite useless now. Could you be so kind as to pass me one of those guns?”

Jack handed her the larger of the two, a finely-made silver-chased .45 that must have been its late owner’s pride and joy. “And what, you didn’t think to send me word? I’ve been inside his operation for four months, I’m pretty damn sure I could have come up with a good excuse to get in there.”

“Didn’t have time.” The floor felt unsteady beneath her feet as she stood, slipping the gun into her pocket. At least a few of those blows had been a bit too hard. She lifted her good hand to prod gingerly at her scalp, swayed, and grabbed hastily for the arm of the chair before she fell over. “The hand-off is happening tonight. Daniel’s got a team moving in on the buyer— I expect that was what the phone call was about— but I thought I ought to make sure that the weapons were neutralized, all the same.”

“By yourself? What the hell were you thinking?” Jack slid under her shoulder. Perhaps later she’d be embarrassed to need it, but right now the support was very welcome. “Jesus Christ. Sousa is gonna murder me.”

“I was thinking that I wasn’t going to get caught,” Peggy said tartly. “Obviously.”

Jack huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “Good to know this is all going to plan, then.”

“I do have a contingency prepared. If we can make it to the docks in one piece, there’s a boat waiting.”

“That’s a big ‘if’.”

“I didn’t say it would be easy.”

“It never fucking is with you,” Jack sighed, then made a face. “Sorry.”

“I forgive you for any and all improprieties,” Peggy said, “considering the circumstances.”

“Considering I just broke three of your fingers for the good of the mission, you mean.”

“To be fair, they are on my off hand.”

“I know,” Jack said, sounding annoyed. “I do pay attention occasionally.”

“I never doubted it.”

Jack snorted expressively, shifting his grip on her as he reached for the door. The movement torqued her sore ribs, and she sucked a slow breath across her teeth. Of course, less than six inches away from her, Jack heard it. “You alright there, Marge?”

“Fantastic,” Peggy said tightly. “I’m afraid I may have cracked a few ribs. The men who apprehended me were a touch overenthusiastic.”

Jack swore under his breath. “And you were planning on mentioning this when?”

“I thought perhaps once we’d made our getaway.”

“Why am I even surprised,” Jack muttered. He ducked his head out, hand on the butt of his pistol, then added, “Coast is clear. Can you walk?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“That’s encouraging,” Jack craned his head out the doorway again, but his grip on her remained firm. “Alright. Let’s go.”

* * *

They made it down to the docks without incident; the hallways were deserted. Daniel’s timing really was impeccable.

The promised boat was little more than a tin can with a motor attached, the sagging cabin unpainted and dark with rot, but the grizzled man behind the wheel was gently solicitous as he helped her onboard. Jack hopped nimbly over the gunwale and said, shortly, “Let’s get the hell out of here, now.”

To his credit, the sailor— his name was Jerry, or possibly Jimmy, and at some later date she’d certainly be embarrassed to have forgotten— simply nodded and pushed off without a word of protest. Peggy sank gratefully onto the padded bench against the far side of the hull, which was damp and mildewed and possibly the most comfortable thing she had ever experienced.

Jack stayed standing at the gunwale for a few minutes, watching the warehouse fade into the distance, before crossing over to sit down next to Peggy. “Let me see your fingers.”

“They’re fine.”

“They’re broken. I know that for a fact, because I’m the one who broke them.” Jack’s scowling face was limned in yellowish light from the lantern over the cabin, shifting with the rolling waves. “Let me see.”

“Such a fuss, really,” Peggy sighed, but she put her swollen left hand down on the overturned barrel that was the closest available thing to a table. Jack leaned over them, his hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his expression, but his hands were shockingly gentle. “Jack.”

“These need to be splinted.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “The breaks were clean. They’ll heal.”

“Yeah,” Jack said roughly. “I guess it could always be worse.” He let go of her hand abruptly and stood. “I’m going to see if the captain has anything we can use. Be right back.”

“Jack,” Peggy started again, but he was already gone. She considered getting up and following him, had already sat halfway up before her ribs twinged again, her stomach rolling unpleasantly. She sank back down.

Jack was back a minute later, clutching a handful of bandages and a thin scrap of wood. Peggy let him take her injured hand, swallowing back her winces as he eased her fingers straight and immobilized them to the wood, binding them together with the bandages. It was only when he was done that he sat back and sighed. “I’m sorry. For the record. I wish—”

“You did what you had to,” Peggy interrupted firmly. “We both did. But if you’re so determined to make it up to me, you can type up my reports while I’m healing. I’m about six months behind.”

Jack stared at her for several seconds, then finally dropped his head, laughed softly, some of the tension finally winding out of his shoulders. “You might wind up regretting that. But yeah, okay, it’s a deal.”

Peggy smiled, letting her head fall back against the gunwale. “Good.”


End file.
